


Grooming

by TheMoreYouSew



Category: Darkiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Brief mention of violence/murder, Comfort, Demons, Dream Manipulation, Eldritch Abomination, F/M, Gen, M/M, Manipulation, Protective!Dark, a bit of crying, i guess, self indulgent shit, slightly overbearing parents, teleporting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 06:27:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11753970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMoreYouSew/pseuds/TheMoreYouSew
Summary: Groom/ɡro͞om,ɡro͝om/verbTo prepare or train someone for a particular purpose.---Self indulgent Dark/Reader shit where he's been watching over Reader for their entire life, but only they can see him.





	Grooming

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title is "I did this instead of finishing the two fics I have currently ongoing"
> 
>  
> 
> No beta readers we die like men

When he first appeared to you, you were too young to be scared. He hovered over your crib, a dark silhouette with pinpricks of light for eyes, and you babbled happily and reached up to him. He was gone when your mother came and picked you up.

The first time you remember him speaking was your first day of kindergarten. He told you all the continents and how to say the alphabet backwards. You earned four gold stars that day. Your teacher called him your imaginary friend and you frowned because you didn't know what "imaginary" meant. When you asked about it later, he told you she was simply confused. 

It wasn't until you were nine that you realized he wasn't quite normal. You were about to go into middle school, too old for imaginary friends now, but he continued to appear to you. You asked if he would ever go away and he told you he'd leave whenever you wanted him to. He smiled when you said you liked having him around.

Your neighbor's dog jumped the fence once while you were walking home from school. It came hurtling towards you at full speed, teeth bared, and there wasn't much you could do but freeze up and wait for the inevitable pain. You opened your eyes when you heard whimpering, and saw it had stopped a few feet short of you. It stared above your head, the way dogs do when nothing is supposedly there, then turned and ran with it's tail between it's legs.

You started to look but felt a hand come down tight on your shoulder. " **Wait.** " He said in a voice you later decided you hated. The hand relaxed after a moment and he let you turn around. As always, he was there, the same monochromatic figure as usual. He patted your head and smiled, comforting. "You're going to be late. Let's keep going."

He was protecting you because you were special. He had picked you specifically, you learned. You had to convince him a few times to let you live and experience things. You made rules; no whispering answers to you in class, no getting rid of smaller inconveniences like fevers or a paper cut, _no hurting anyone._

It wasn't until you were thirteen that you had to make that last rule. A taller, older boy had hit you during gym class. You were holding your bloody nose, cornered by the boy when you saw it. The light above you flickered once and you looked up, then screamed. The boy was caught off guard and leapt back, narrowly avoiding being crushed by a broken light fixture.

You gave your lingering imaginary friend the name _'Dark'_ after this. "You could have hurt him!" You scolded him in your room, voice nasal and nonthreatening thanks to the bandages on your face.

"He _did_ hurt you." Dark was sitting cross-legged on your bed, unhappy but complying with your order to be at eye level with him. 

"He's a kid! He doesn't have someone like you looking out for him."

It took a few more minutes of arguing before he finally agreed with you. "Fine." He growled. "I won't hurt anyone else."

You were seventeen when he broke that rule. 

Christmas break before graduation. You had been drinking at some friend's party and opted to walk home instead of calling your parents for a ride. Dark left you alone after your first drink, which you had just assumed was him being polite. When a voice called to you while you passed by a particularly dim street, you thought it was him. 

You didn't recognize the person you were looking at, coming towards you with a _wrong_ look in their eyes. You sobered up in an instant when you felt a gun press to your forehead, and that was when Dark came back.

" **CEASE**."

For a moment, you though the sound had been the gun firing right by your ear.

Whatever happened, your brain stopped you from remembering it. You _know_ you saw what Dark did, but everything after the moment you heard his voice was blank. You came to sitting under a running showerhead still in your clothes. He was holding you tightly, whispering _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry_ as blood and gore rinsed off of you. None of it was yours. 

That was also the first time you'd ever heard him apologize because _he_ messed up. It had always been in murmurs pressed to the top of your head as you cried over a rude friend, a breakup, a lost pet. Usually he would take the time to cheer you up afterwards, remind you of how wonderful you were, but that day he was distant.

He was gone when you came back from putting your clothes in the washing machine. A neatly folded pair of pajamas sat on the end of your bed, but other than that you went to sleep feeling horrible and alone. He made up to you the week he was gone by blocking every one of your nightmares.

He ended up having to be your sleeping aide on more than a few occasions. Frequently, during your more stressful years of school, you would curl up in bed with the day's tribulations running through your mind. More often than not it was arguments you made up, a screaming match between you and a friend or you and your parents, venting tearfully, intrusive thoughts so _violently_ out of character you would sit upright out of reflex.

Those were the nights that Dark had to step in and quiet everything. He would lay a hand on your head and your mind would clear in a snap. "Hush. It's okay, I'm here." He would say as a soft command, and you would drift off easily. Those were the nights you slept the best. 

When you were twenty, you asked him was he was. It wasn't the first time you had asked, but it was the first time he considered you to be grown enough to know the real answer. 

"I'm not a ghost." He said. 

"A demon?"

"No."

"An angel?"

He laughed. 

"Tell me."

"I'm from a different place, dear. A much more different world than this one."

"What is it like?"

A wry smile as a response. You pushed for more information, and he told you a story about the world he was from. He felt lonely there. He was alone, but only sort of. He was the king, but only sort of. He described it as being empty and filled with everything all at once. A place without time or physics that he could travel to and from at his whim. You found yourself fascinated by it and by who he was. 

When he concluded, you turned to look up at him face to face. "Why come here?"

"This place has far more light." He patted you on the head. "As well, it has you. I couldn't find someone more pleasant to be around even if I tried."

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. "I'm glad you chose me." For a moment, he hesitated, before placing his hand at the top of your head like he always did. 

"So am I."

The last few months that you were twenty-five, your mother began pestering you about your love life. She asked when you were getting married and why you hadn't dated anyone after high school. There was no way to tell her how awkward a romantic relationship could be when a possessive, otherworldly being was attending every date.

She was aging and getting crankier by the year. The day before you turned twenty-six, the discussion turned into a yelling match on the phone. You slammed it down on the receiver and marched off to the living room, where Dark materialized on one of your couches, pretending to watch TV. You flopped down next to him in silence and watched as well.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked after a few minutes. 

"No."

"Same thing as usual?"

"Yes."

A beat passed before you began ranting. You vented to him about your mother, her overbearing nature, which then lead to you venting about your jerk of a boss, your coworkers, your friends who hadn't interacted with you in months. By the end of it, you had curled up on your side with your head in his lap, arms wrapped around a pillow while you talked. His hand rested on your head comfortingly.

"It doesn't matter." You concluded with a sigh, sitting up and moving to lean on his shoulder. "I'll always have you. That's all I need." The faintest grin tugged at his lips. He stood suddenly and you almost fell.

"Do you mean that?" He asked, turning to you. 

You laughed, mostly amused at his odd reaction. "Of course I do."

"Do you want to come with me?" He kneeled in front of you and took your hand.

You sat up a little more, concerned, "What do you mean--"

"Forever. Just us. We can live in my world, and you won't have to worry about anything or be upset ever again."

You hesitated. He was so sincere as he looked up at you. It didn't take long for you to make up your mind. "Dark, are you proposing to me?" you asked jokingly.

Dark glanced down, a smile crossing his face when he noticed his bent-knee stance, your hand in his, did look very similar to a proposal. He looked back up to you, "Maybe I am."

You don't have to say yes. You're beaming so hard you're practically glowing. Dark stands, pulling you to your feet as well, and you let yourself fall into him as he envelopes you in a hug. 

It's the changing of his form beneath your hands that alerts you. While he had always been at least semisolid, for the first time you feel the opaque fabric of his suit. You know immediately what's happened and where you are from the stories he's been telling you over the last five years. You lift your head to find both of you are in a two-dimensional void, a color you can only describe as _dark_. And it fits, you think to yourself.

You move your hand to cup his face and he is actually warm. You can feel stubble and feather-soft hair. The tips of your fingers turn the same greyish shade as his skin the longer they are on him and you can't bring yourself to be frightened by it. There are blue and red outlines flickering around him, your ears ring with a disembodied sound, his eyes are the same void as your surroundings, and you are too happy to be scared.

Your feet are flat on invisible ground as you pull him into another hug, yet you feel weightless.

" **I'm so happy** ," he says as though reading your thoughts, his voice that of legions. It is no longer unpleasant to you.

"So am I." You say, and then continue jokingly. "My king."

You couldn't see the look on his face, though you would like to imagine it's as jovial as yours. You'd never in a million years imagine him with a blank expression. You'd never be able to feel him splitting sharply beneath you, one copy screaming in pain though completely mute and another with an unsympathetic smile hiding rows and rows of needlelike teeth. Ultimately, you'd never turn twenty-six.

His head nestles against your shoulder in a manner you perceive as caring, even affectionate. This had been a longer process than what he usually did, but it turned out to be far more impactful. A first success to a first try. 

He would like to think he is proud of the person he has taught you to be. But he is only proud of himself. His arms wrap languidly around you, one hand firmly placed at the top of your head. 

" _ **Mine.**_ "

**Author's Note:**

> wheezes for eleven years straight i hope y'all enjoyed


End file.
